


A Road Trip From Colorado to North Dakota

by Ihatewriting



Category: South Park
Genre: Adventure, Angst and Humor, Character Study, Dialogue Heavy, Dry Humor, Experimental Style, Literary References & Allusions, Literature, M/M, Philosophy, Psychology, Road Trips, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Slurs, Underage Drinking, like everything is very slow like seriously slow, various tones
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26751934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ihatewriting/pseuds/Ihatewriting
Summary: The misadventures of our four boys going on a road trip, on bikes!And a deep dwell into our characters' deepest, most tenebrous aspects of their psyches.The Style love story comes free of charge.
Relationships: Kyle Broflovski/Stan Marsh
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	1. The Obligatory Inchoate of All

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. This is the first time me writing actual, non-dialogues only story... well not really. The characters are presumed fifteen to sixteen years old. I tried to be as faithful to the original characters as possible, but certain amount of OOC is ineluctable. I originally wasn't intend to have the story being this... serious, well it's not that serious, but nevertheless more serious than I intended it to be. It's still funny and entertaining though, I promise, at least I hope so. The piece is inspired by Cormac McCarthy's works and Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness.

It was, even till this very day, still a mystery to the parties involved, whose idea was it, a road trip on bicycles. It wouldn’t be Cartman’s idea, cause he was fat, and he hated the idea of movement in general; it wouldn’t be Kenny’s, cause he was poor, and he would rather spend his time working in the Raisins to earn more green to support his soon-to-be-alcoholism drinking habits; it wouldn’t be Kyle’s, cause he was a Jew, and he also was a nerd, who would much prefer reading books to study for college; which left us with Stan, whom had vehemently refuted the idea that he was the one that made the initial proposal, yet strangely enough, probably not that strange, that he was also the one most excited about the trip. 

Who are we kidding, he was definitely the one who came up with this shitty idea. 

So the four started their preparation. We would need bikes, Stan said, good ones, not those kid stuff we had at home. Cartman insisted his bike wasn’t _k_ _id stuff_. They got to the town’s bike shop, rented four fully geared mountain bikes. Stan used up his allowances, Kyle dumped all his savings of the year, Cartman didn’t even flinch on the spending, and Kenny announced he would have to jerk a few more men off for him to afford the rent. Kyle and Stan paid his parts for him. 

Then it was time to pack. Kyle’s green backpack, Cartman’s ginormous hiking backpack which was almost as tall as him, Kenny’s shoddy gunny sack, and for Stan, a guitar box and a satchel. Cartman chided the guy for bringing a guitar to a road trip, deeming the act to be _hippie and unprofessional_ , which was quite the rare case of Cartman being the one spouting the truth. Kyle also suggested against the idea, but then saw the overwhelming zest in Stan’s eyes and thoroughly gave up on convincing him any further. Things they brought were varied, as the things they brought seemed to reflected the different ideas they had of what a road trip would look like: Stan brought some food, a giant furnace which had never contained water above 80 degrees, 26 Celsius, once in its entire unconscious life serving the boy, a half-ass med kit, a map, cause that felt like what a good old fashioned road trip should have he said, a tent, and some clothes and underwear; Cartman brought food, lots of them, ungodly amount, a Switch, of course, he would want to keep up with his island in Animal Crossing, and clothes and underwear; Kenny brought tools, all kinds of tools, from hammer to spatula to screw driver to duct tapes to zip ties… every kind of them, a flask for the spirit, and only a bunch of underwear, cause he had no other clothing at home; Kyle, brought clothes and underwear, a flashlight, a compass, a more fully fledged med kit, a map, in case GPS had failed them, a telescope, 

And a pile of books. 

A stupid idea. Kenny muffled his words as usual. A dumb idea, they add weights, and would do absolutely nothing on the trip.

My entertainment. Kyle answered. They can fill my soul. 

Cartman laughed at the pretentiousness, telling the red haired boy that only his little boyfriend Stan would eat up that bullshit. Stan blushed and told Cartman to fuck off. 

And with all being prepared, it’s time to set off. Said goodbye to their parents, the four gathered in front of the now pretty abandoned stark pond, and as the first glimpse of orange sunlight peered through the cracks of the mountains afar, the four boys set off. The road would be long, with many twist and turns, one could presume, but once the trip was started, there would rarely be a chance of going back.


	2. Which Way to Go

The first destination was Denver, the place that would connect them back to the real world, the outside world. The first hour of bike ride was alright, the four going in orderly fashioned, Stan being the front followed by Kyle, Cartman and Kenny, in that order, and they rode on the side of the road, with desultory cars passing by them, and the rising sun on the horizon slowly ascending to the high. However, after the first hour, Cartman demanded a rest. The rest of the gang was not pleased, cause they had barely broken a sweat: Stan played in bands, and being in the football team, so some amount of physique being built was inevitable; Kyle always took care of his health, admittedly at times easily befall to illnesses, by exercise playing basketball and eat healthy; and Kenny had ran around in the slum enough for him to endure some tortuously long work out. Cartman needed a rest, though, so they rested next to the road. Amidst the rest, Cartman questioned the leadership of the group, stating he should be the one leading this expedition. The other three boys accepted tacitly, there wasn’t a leader to begin with, no one was really usurped, so no one cared. Kenny did suggest Stan to be the leader, not that he had any compliment for Stan besides the good look which he complimented every other semi-normal looking person in the town with, just that it was Stan’s idea that they go on a road trip, so Stan should take on the responsibility.

It was not my idea. Stan insisted. I don’t know which one of us said oh we should go on a road trip and would it be funny if we do so on bikes, but it was not me. 

I don’t even know why you are denying it at this point. Said Kenny. It’s so obviously you, and we had all presumed to be you at this point so you might as well give in. 

Wow you guys are bullshit! I am taking over! I am in charge! The fat one shouted.

Well where should we go then fat ass? Kyle questioned. Show us a path leader so we can carry onward. 

A moment of contemplation. Fetch me the map. 

The map was given, yet of course he couldn’t interpret any of it. It was a map, on paper, no one read those anymore. He yanked the thing away and pulled out his phone, yet there was no signal. How about we stay in Denver, then return to the town, Cartman suggested. 

Shit idea! Shit idea! We are on a road trip, not a field trip organized by our teacher when we were fourth graders! We should, and will go further than Denver. 

Well you make a path then, so passionate about all this shit! 

Thought you are our leader! 

The great leader gave up and passed the leadership to the next kin, which was the boy in the brown coat and the blue hat. Stan read through the map, made the call that they should drive along highway twenty five after getting to Denver, in an attempt of crossing to Wyoming and keep going north afterward. When asked why north, he answered, semi-embarrassingly, that he wanted to reach North Dakota so he could ride on the longest straight road in the country. 

Cause you are not straight. 

Shut your mouth fat ass. 

It was settled then, they resumed on the trip. The road was still long, and the day still young after all. 

And it was noon and they were so knackered, they had to crash their bike in a giant bush so they could sit down and take a bite, and even though the three boys didn’t admit this, they were glad that Cartman brought so much food with him. Carbohydrates became the chase-after, as they couldn’t decide who could get the last piece of bread roll by rock paper scissors cause after almost ten rounds they were still getting a tide for some fucked up reasons, so they split that thing four ways. Cartman was not pleased. They also splited a box of graham crackers. With a few gulps of water, they felt replenished, as strong as a wild buffalo and more than ready to hit the road again. 

An idea that soon was proven to be a drastic mistake. Denver was further than they could’ve ever imagined, and the meager amount of food did not sustain them as much as they would want it to. Kenny complained about his feet soaring, which Cartman who rode in front of him told him to shut up. Kyle was tacit but simply looking at him could tell that he was struggling as well. Stan looked-half dead at best. 

After almost four hours of bike riding, they reached Denver at one. Cartman immediately sought after a KFC, to no avail, so they settled at a diner. They parked their bikes outside, and it was then they realized, besides for Kyle, no one had brought a bike lock. 

Yeah, I forgot about that. Stan said while stroking his chin with one hand as if he was making some profound statement. 

How can you be so… stupid, sometime. Kyle couldn’t help but chide. 

Yeah, a bit… just a bit. 

Alright I got an idea. Kenny proposed while pulling a chain out of his sack. Let’s chain our bikes together on a pole. 

That looked beyond stupid! The fat one howled. 

You could have your bike stolen if you want. 

Disgruntled but with no alternative option, Cartman submitted. 

They went into the diner which was almost completely empty, and sat at a table next to the window. The Denver streets outside were semi-busy: busy enough for a small town where their came from, but empty and cold for a big city like Denver. Stan ordered a plate of breakfast food, hash sunnyside egg sausage and all that; Kyle ordered a smoothie and a slice of cheesecake, cause the high calories high sugar and high carbohydrate would help with the ride he said; Cartman ordered half a table of food, with country steak, gravy and mash, fish and chips, fried chicken and waffle, cheesecake and a cinnamon roll, all of which he eventually finished; Kenny said he would eat the scraps they left for him. Stan and Kyle ordered a small plate of food and paid for him. 

When they got out the diner, Kyle’s bike was stolen. 

Haha! Cartman laughed, your bike was stolen and mine was not!

I had my bike lock on! 

The thieves nowadays know themselves some high techs, an attempt to comfort from Stan, a clumsy one, They knew how to break locks for sure. 

See? Bounding should always use the chain! But seriously though what shall we do about it?

Wait he's there. One of them pointed to the corner of the street, where a man was struggling to push a bike forward. They chased, and the man fled. 

So he didn’t break the lock, did he plan to just push this whole thing with a lock on?

Ballsy move, shame the jew had his bike back. 

You should feel lucky Kyle had his bike back cause if not one of us would have to carry him to Wyoming! Kenny slapped the back of Cartman’s head. 

Thank god he didn’t get away. Kyle sighed in relief, then muttered to Kenny asking for his bike to be chained next time alongside theirs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know being topical is kinda the show's spirit, but I truly loathed the world right now, nothing in this work would reference any real life events,so enjoy the escapism while you still can! I don't know how frequent I will be uploading cause I had another project to work on currently, but I will tried to keep this up, the best I can. Chapters in this piece will usually be a bit short so I will upload two at a time, again, the best I can. Comment if you like it, comment if you don't like it, your comment will always make my day. Stay tune for more!


	3. A Poker Game Went Wrong

Crossing Denver was proven to be a unrealistic task to complete before sunset, and riding a bike at night would be too much of a health hazard for even the most insane one of them -- Kenny -- to take on, as the highway would be long, the night would be dark, the drivers on the road would be blind. Thus they settled with an inn on the roadside. They asked for one room only, the owner looked at them funny but didn’t press any further. The room of which was a eyesore, if we are being polite about it: the stained carpet flooring reeked of a smell resembling nothing of the living, the bolts on the restroom door was loosened, the corner of the walls humid and molded, half of the lights in the room couldn’t perform, the walls were too close to each other, the window was shut. There was a not so royal looking queen bed.

I got the bed alright? 

You? Absolutely not! You fat piece of body tissues would take up the whole bed!

Well I need a bed to sleep so I can ride more bikes the next day!

No, Cartman. The bed is enough for two people if you stay out of it. You can take that sofa in the corner, we need as many of us getting as much rest as possible. 

That sofa looks like a piece of shit!

That’s a whole sofa you had there, fatso!

Jew cannot have the bed then! He must sleep on the floor! 

I will sleep on the floor regardless of you. 

Nah, nah, nah, I will do it. I basically sleep on the floor in my home anyway, I am used to it. 

So Stan and I will have the bed?

Stan panicked. As Cartman and Kyle ineluctably fell into another argument, he dragged Kenny aside and muttered to him, You will have the bed, I will sleep on the floor. 

Are you some sort of masochist? 

Well why would you want the floor anyway?

Cos I am a masochist. 

Look I can’t sleep on a bed with Kyle. 

Reason of which is? 

The expression of embarrassment and a slight gesticulation towards one’s privacy had answered the question instead of words. 

Oh, you will get an erec…

Holy shit, I am gonna murder you on the spot!

The two eventually settled with it. The change of arrangement, announced later in the night, was bewildering to the other two boys who hadn’t been involved with the previous conversation, but it was accepted with not much resistance. Kyle did ask Stan why he would opt out of the bed spot, to which Stan clumsily gave the answer along the lines of Kenny was not feeling too well and needed a good night's rest. Seeing the exhilarating, almost manic performance Kenny had put on later in the night, Kyle didn’t buy that answer, but pressed no further. 

And there was no WIFI.

Oh what the shit, one yelled over another, I need my Netflix goddamn it! 

Yeah, I would very much like to scroll through some tweets… guess bringing my books is more than correct. 

No, it was a shit idea, and it would remain so, Kenny howled, Let’s do something then, together! Screw the internet, we don’t need it to be entertained! We can entertain ourselves! 

Yea! Besides the fact that you worded it too uncomfortably close to masturbation, I agree, Stan echoed with zest, We should do something together, an old fashioned road trip is like that, no? A bunch of friends together, there is no internet and… oh, Kyle, quit the books! 

It’s no internet? 

That’s not what I… oh come on, we haven’t had a sleepover since… forever! Don’t you miss the day where we will just hang out together?

We can read books together. 

How about a game of poker? The poor boy proposed. 

They sat around, stared at the stack of poker cards emptily, not really knowing what to do with them. They played a game of show-hand, which Cartman won thoroughly, celebrated but then realized having no prizes for him to claim, got mad and demanded to play something else. They played Black Jack, with Kyle stomping everyone else, Kenny called it off for being extraordinarily boring without any bets, Cartman proposed they could bet on something in their possessions, Kenny said he would bet on his big toes, and Black Jack was thus dropped. 

At last, they resorted to playing house of cards. Stan was, inexplicably, extremely good at it, stacking an impressive pyramid with nimbleness in no time. It was impressive, the other three could admit to themselves, but after all it was just a house of cards. Once it was stacked, it lost all meanings and reasons for its continued existence, becoming just another thing to be destroyed, which the boys definitely did. Then Stan stacked another one, this one even bigger, and they destroyed that as well. Then it was clear a string in Kenny’s head had snapped, as he slammed through the table, screaming incoherent words while downing one gulps after another of spirit from his flask, then he pulled down the curtain pole, then he smashed it against the kitchen sink, then he smashed the bath curtain down, then he broke the mirror, then he threw the now bent pole down on the floor, panning and desperately grasping for air, Stan handed him some water to calm him down, Kyle laid him on the bed, Cartman laughed at the absurdity. They hit the hay, Stan said goodnight to Kyle in an awkward manner and Kyle definitely did notice it, Kenny was in a black out, and Cartman snorted loudly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a very, very slow burn story. It doesn't mean it will not be succinct, however.


	4. Peace Unto Us

And the sun scorched this earth with anger, and with no roof above their heads, and a long road before their faces, and a bike beneath their bottoms, the tarmac under their wheels melting, the sweat streaming from their foreheads, and the mountains afar fluctuating in the heat. There was no endpoint to be seen, and the four boys riding forward in de-synchronized manner: Kenny, at the far back, would sometime accelerate in a burst of savage determination, which would only last about a few minutes before it abated and he fell back to the last of the line; Cartman was constantly sluggish, barely be able to keep up with the other three, panning and wheezing, making desperate moaning of pain; Kyle was tacit as any other non-living things, like a bush or a rock, but his twisted countenance should be a good indicator of his progressing exhaustion; Stan, in as much pain as anyone else, still kept up with the good spirit, however, leading the team in front, once in a while turned his head and gave his companions a word of encouragement or two, of which was returned with eyes of scorning and rancor. The highway was a bit empty, maybe emptier than what a highway should normally look like, and it went on, it went on, and it went on, on, on, on…

They parked at the roadside gas station to rest, each chowing down an energy bar, of which all belonged to Cartman whom usually would ask for payment but now was too knackered to even mutter a word. 

Say, where are we? 

The map didn’t show where they are. I don’t know. 

Got signals around here, right? Pull out a GPS, somebody. 

Cartman did it. He pulled out his phone and checked. Oh mother fuck… we are not even at the half way point!

We didn’t ride for that long… Kyle wiped away the sweat on his forehead, Only a morning. 

Only! A morning! A whole morning of bike ride under the sun is literal torture! 

I would tell you to fuck right off then tell you how fat you are normally but what you just said was too close to the truth for me to do that…

Well fuck you jew! 

They thronged into the empty gas station store. The owner, a fat bald middle aged man, peered up at them from his phone, saw the four white boys, then back to his phone again. They simultaneously stood in front of the display cooler, and the four hands reached for the door handle simultaneously, and they pulled it open simultaneously, and the cold moist air gusted out, inundated the room with refreshing coolness, and their souls felt replenished, and they just stood there, dazed by the temperature that so reminded them of their hometown in Winter. 

Hey, you bastards! The owner shouted at them, You are wasting power! Shut the damn door. 

They each grabbed a can of beer. Kenny put his back and went for the cheap Vodka. The owner asked for their ID, Kenny proffered a blowjob, Cartman asked where his gun was, and the owner let them have it. 

Stood on the road once more, now under a lonely tree, with the cold liquid down their throats and alcohol ever-so-slightly fumigated their systems, their normal minds had returned.

This is so stupid! Why aren’t we on our way back already! And we were talking about going to Wyoming! That is… stupid! Stan, you are a fucking retard, you know that?

I feel attacked as an innocent cause I’m not the one all raving about Wyoming? 

You definitely are, and you definitely were the one who proposed the trip…

No I am not Kenny! 

For fuck’s sake…

Even if we are going to Wyoming, Kyle said while flipping through his notebook, a more realistic way of doing so should be considered. 

The bike racks on the bus could only take two bikes. The bus was completely empty. 

You want to have your bikes up here?

Well what’s the problem? There aren’t any people in here, and they don’t bite? 

No! Absolutely not. The bus driver protested. It goes against the safety rules, get your bikes on the racks or get out. 

There isn’t a soul on your bus right now! Who are they gonna hurt? Who can they hurt? 

It goes against the rules!

Rules are to be broken. 

Not when it would influence my pay?!

They insisted. The bus stood at that one station for dozens of minutes and finally the driver budged, on the sole condition that they would get off once someone else had gotten onto the bus. 

The four sat down, looked out the window. A yellowish brown field of dead grass, the city was behind them long ago. 

Finally, we are making progress without mercilessly killing ourselves. 

This goes against the spirit of a road trip, this isn’t right…

A bus is still what people take on a road trip, Stan…

I know, I just… want to make this more special.

You definitely came up with the idea. 

No I didn’t Kenny…

Enough! I don’t want to hear you twats bickering near my ears again! Shut up! 

Silence, this time accompanied by some long yearned restfulness. Serenity peered through the window, and the golden sunlight glimmered on the handling poles, on the seats, on the floor. Some of them shut their eyes so the blackness took over, as even vision had become a folley, a burden for one to bear. There was no sound but the humming of the engine, and the wheel rolling across sometimes muddy roads. 

I would very much like another beer. Exclaimed the fat one. 

I would like that as well. 

I got the flask. 

I am not drinking that dirty spirit of yours. 

My spirit is high and pure. 

I don’t think we should drink anymore than we already had… we are gonna ride bikes, afterall. 

Yes. We are gonna ride bikes. 

An old woman, even her pubic hair would be grey with her hairs, out of all the various and colorful days of this year, chose to go on this particular bus on this very day at this very time, presumably to attend her own funeral, and the four boys were thus forced to leave. Cartman proposed breaking the promise they made with the driver, Kyle scolded him for being a dishonest bastard and rejected the proposal. They went back onto the road. Riding their bikes, and the sun, though not on their zenith, still blaring, blasting the poor heath below their wheels. Sitting once again on the saddles hurts one’s thighs more than a bed sheet laced with rusty nails, and pushing down the pedals with one’s feet became a chore in and of itself. Not even Stan could put up any masquerade of joy, and the four just silently rode alongside the still, quite disturbingly so, empty highway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe such harrowing sunlight isn't exactly the most realistic for Colorado... but I can't get them to California anytime soon so... artistic license, I called for.


	5. Crossing the Line

It was at the end of highway 25 did they have themselves rest against a crimson red brick wall standing all alone on the roadside. It supported nothing, it was next to nothing, it attached with nothing. The water bottle they had brought with them had various sizes, with Kyle’s being the biggest, because being hydrated, he said, and if death would truly come for them with the cause of dehydration he would want to be the last one out of them to embrace it, he said. It made no sense, but he was reading some very strange books recently, _Crime and Punishment, The Gay Science,_ which Cartman promptly made fun of him for reading, _The World as Will and Representation,_ and the one he was reading at this very moment with his back against the most useless wall in Colorado, _Hermetic Corpus._

You have got to be shitting me. Are there no stores around? Nothing? Not even a water fountain?

We are literally at the edge of Colorado, you wouldn’t find anything here besides Wyomingians here, alright?

Bullshit! I am out of water and I will go find myself a water fountain! 

Well be my guest and just walked right out there to see if the great sun wouldn’t torch your fat fucking ass! 

Stan tilted his head a little, as the argument between Kenny and Cartman progressed, he observed Kyle askance, seeing the boy wiping away the sweat on his forehead with one hand while both that green orbs of his locked dead set on the pages. The green eyes did, however, in the corner of the wide field of vision, noticed the strange observer. Kyle didn’t interrupt his own reading for it, Stan acting strange was not anything newsworthy exactly. 

Dude. 

Ugh? A hint of surprise, as if he was not expecting to be engaged. 

What are you reading? 

Oh, um… I recently borrowed this… um, _Hermetic Corpus,_ the book that single handedly created Hermeticism.

You gotta explain what that is, Herme… whatever, that. 

A system of belief, philosophy and esoteric traditions that is based on Hermetic writings…

You know what, forget it, I am not asking anymore. 

I was answering it. 

You can well read your books, dude, not interested. What's gotten into you to read these books, these… I don’t know what. 

General interest… 

Good for you. The smile on him was bright and high. 

The sun’s pale white light moved slowly across the road. A car drove by and honked at them. Cartman flipped it off. 

Stan?

Yeah?

May I ask something. 

Spill. 

I know you… enough, I think. You are just a bit too… unseemly blithesome looking, for this past few days… 

Oh… oh I didn’t notice it…

I know you are a sort of doom and gloom person and it worried me… but now your behaviors worry me even more… reaction formations, defense mechanism of exhibiting the opposite tendency… you can tell me, you know? If you have a problem… 

You worried too much. 

You can tell me. I just want you to know.

Of course! When have I ever kept secrets from you? 

Don’t be a fool, Stan, we all have our secrets. 

Open, open, open, open… 

Lascivious thoughts open tunnels of extraordinary views, disengage, his mind screamed into his ears, to disengage, a tombstone for a headboard. Thoughts of incredible horror poked their heads out, as he suppressed them down by exiting the conversation, and the way he did so was blunt, violent and insolent. He simply looked away and pretended Kyle was not there anymore. 

I brought a gun, Kenny. 

Bullshit. 

Cartman pulled out a short barrel revolver. Boom! Luckily only an imitation created by his mouth. 

Woah woah woah! You really did bring your gun! What the fuck! 

Gotta be safe, Kenny! Wyoming is a dangerous place, we need to protect ourselves!

Wyoming is literally a barren wasteland with less souls than there are in Greenland! 

You don’t know that? You don’t know if the hills and the tall grass and the tree haven’t some rat bastard hiding behind them? What if they are hippies? 

Well how is the gun gonna help us? 

If we see them coming to get us, I pull out my piece, I come to the front, and I just start blasting! 

That is terrific, I am glad you are willing to put yourself in front of your friends. I just wish you didn't kill a bunch of hippies as a result of it. 

You know I always have your back. 

Oh really, thanks a bunch then, Cartman. 

You are very much fucking welcome, Kenny. 

Wow! Fat ass! Is that a gram? 

No Jew, it’s a gun. 

Yeah I saw that and why the fuck would you have a gun? 

Based. 

...What!? 

Cartman pointed the gun at the road, and feign to shoot at the emptiness. The gun wasn’t cocked, and he retrieved it back to his pocket. To protect, my man! Either we go back now, which I highly recommend, or we need to get going. 

We probably should go into Wyoming before sunset. You made a decent point once in a blue moon, fat ass, but you just have to be a douche about it. 

Hey, here is a brilliant idea, suck my balls jew. 

The chains of the machine worked themselves around the cogs once more, as the four bikes went on their one way, and exchange of words became again seldom and succinct, and the sun slowly descended on the left of them, and cars drove became a little bit more frequent of a sight. The searing wind finally came down a bit, and the garment they had on them returned from being a burden to an idiosyncrasy of theirs they themselves willingly possessed. And it went on and on and on and on and on, and the grass ground next to the road flustered to the rising wind, and the plain afar remained still as the water somewhere else, and here came the dusk. Wyoming crept under their wheels as they cross the border, and there was no great revelation of it, there was no celebratory mood or actions to be hold, only a shoddy, bird shit-stained billboard with a worn out poster of _Welcome to Wyoming,_ of which Cartman pissed onto, as the other three boys turned their backs on the micturating sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our boys reached Wyoming! That is worthy of celebration... right?  
> Any comments? No? :(


	6. A Marxist

When they had seen the first man-made structure that was not a road or highway in Wyoming, it was almost ten in the night already. Kyle blamed on Cartman’s frequent asking for breaks, Cartman imputed it on Kenny’s erratic riding behavior causing an acceleration in fatigue, Kenny called Stan out for being a poor planner and putting them on detours for several times, Stan had no one to blame so he smiled awkwardly and changed the subject. The twenty four hours diner was proven, time and time again, to be one of the few still reliable places anywhere in the country. They chained all their bikes together in front of the diner’s door, making a horrific sight. They all ordered very little for themselves: Stan a glass of cherry coke, Kyle a glass of orange juice, Cartman had a huge glass of strawberry milkshake with some pancakes, Kenny some water with a slice of lemon in them; as it was apparent to them, that the money they had brought with them was draining away faster than they had thought, and if they want to sustain themselves into places of afar, Stan insisted the end point to be North Dakota which at this point everyone else had agreed upon to be a bad idea, they would have to be more frugal about the spending, which they had. 

This is bad, like, this is really bad… 

Oh how bad is it? How bad is it, enough for you to keep on your stupid mumbles while chowing your stupid pancakes, huh? How bad is it exactly, how about you enlightened us all, you fat piece of shit? 

Really! Really goddamn bad! It’s almost eleven now, and we still haven’t found ourselves a place to stay! The nearest inns are all full! So what the fuck are we suppose to do now? 

Yeah, he made a lot of sense. It is, quite frankly, pretty bad sounding… ugh, that, is, tart… some very tart water, that is…

Shut up! Stan! You better come up with something! 

Stan’s expression had clearly shown the others that he hadn’t an idea what to do, but just as everyone was giving up, and the cherry coke had the bottom of its glass revealed, Stan did come up with something. We can stay here, he said, We can stay here. It’s twenty four hours, just get some sleep, we get going as soon as the sun rises. What’s the owner gonna do? Kick us out? 

So we sleep in this diner?

Yes. Well we will need one to nightwatch, so we take turns. Eight hours to sunrise, each of us watch for two hours, wake the next person, everyone gets six hours of sleep, perfect. Equality, everyone is equal, no one is better off than the other. 

Nightwatch for what?

Situation! Who knows what will happen in a twenty four hours diner at night? Robbery, kidnapping, drug dealing, we need someone conscious to fast react. I can take the blame for this, I can nightwatch first. 

Bullshit. The first one is the easiest shift, the painful one would be the one in the middle. 

Fine. Look, I am doing the best I can, just… say what y'all want, I can fill. 

I am the first shift! 

I can be the third… ugh, who thought putting lemon in water is a good idea?

I can be the last, I read books in the morning anyway. 

Well guess I had the second… y’all really threw the most painful shift to me, huh? 

The first shift is the most dangerous, you know? I got a gun, so something arose, don’t you all worry, I will just pull my piece and start blasting!

No… no… no… no… no, fat ass. You de-escalate the situation, not just come out and start blasting, we don’t want to wake up in the war zone, seeing you exchange fires with a terrorist or two, no. You had a gun, use it to de-escalate. 

Pussy. 

Sleep was needed. The night shift worker of the diner was more than displeased by the overstaying teenagers, but he was being paid too little to do anything about it. Cartman stood awake, while the other three went to sleep in different postures, Stan lied down on the bench, Kyle had his head in his arms, and Kenny wore his jacket backward so the hoodie would completely conceal his face. 

Cartman, first resorted to scrolling through his phone to kill times, watching superheros punching each other’s face out and Kermit the frog fondling a pig, soon realizing the power shortage issue… he would very much want to use his phone tomorrow, but there was no place to charge. He asked that worker if he can use an outlet, the work told him to fuck off. Now out of a way to entertain, he decided to prank his friend, drawing dicks on their faces, but he hadn’t a sharpie, so the urge to do so soon abated. Then drowsiness came, all four of his fat limbs screamed in soreness, and he felt giddy. He saw a black guy walking in the diner, and he almost pulled his gun out, but then saw the guy pick up some food and leave immediately, not even batting an eye on him or his companions. He was too not self-aware to realize how racist that series of events painted him to be, though he might not care that much about it. He started to doze off.

When he remembered to call Stan up, it was already twenty minute overdue. He kicked Stan, Stan jumped at it, he went to sleep. 

To awake himself, Stan ordered a cup of coffee from the equally sluggish nightshifter. They exchanged a few words, barely qualified as a small talk, the man asked him where they were going, he answered he hadn’t an idea, which wasn’t a lie. The coffee did very little, the sudden rush of chemicals could only sustain the elation of a soul for so long before it crashed back into the somnolent state that it was supposed to possess. The second shift is definitely the worst as the first few hours of sleeping granted him no restfulness whatsoever, so he resorted to stacking house of cards to kill time: his phone had died. He stacked one, and behind the cards, he could see Kyle’s green hat. There was a small bit of his flaming red hair escaping through the gap, and he saw it, so he collapsed the house of cards he just built, and unconsciously reached for those strains of hair but then jumped back as though he had touched a kettle of boiling water. Something to distract. He would very much like to play his guitar, but he couldn’t, it would wake everyone up. The elder process, you might never see his face again, he pondered to himself, and a sense of dread overwhelmed. 

When Kenny was awakened, his eyes expanded, just as always. As Stan slowly slumbered back to his somber dreams, he, on the other hand, started mixing everything he could get on the table, making a glass of truly horrific cocktail before he got bored with that as well. He noticed the book in Kyle’s hand. _Hermetic Corpus._ He yanked the book out of the sleeping boy’s hand, and in intolerable ennui he started reading it. The book was dry, hard to chew through, merely dialogues between what seemed to be a teacher and a bunch of students laid within, with no pictures or funny quips to sustain his attention. The operation of the sun, the operation of the stars, the operation of the gods, then came the rituals, one after another, turning lime into gold, putting a dagger against the sky while humming hymns praising the one true God, the only Deity. He read through a page or two, put it down, wanting to smash something in the head, then grabbed the book and started reading again. 

Kyle woke up on his own, as his sleep was always pestered by tenebrous dreams too disturbing for him to recall consciously when the sun was up, but the sun wasn’t up right now, so he remembered every detail of it. Then he saw Kenny reading his book. 

Kenny? I don’t know you are interested in… that. 

Me neither… really put everything in perspective… I mean, I kinda just grabbed it and started reading, hope you don’t mind. 

Why would I?

My man, you will always be my man. 

Go to sleep, or a nap cos two hours could barely qualify as one. 

A goodnight kiss? Kyle? 

No.

Prude. 

Go to sleep. 

Kenny went. He picked up the book and read through the pages he had read through already and once again finding nothing particularly interesting to him. He looked over to the three others, now unconscious and vulnerable, a sudden urge in him to do something outrageous, a violent outburst of sorts. The reason of which could be frustrations that had accumulated in him so far, frustrated by the current state of the world, frustrated by this strange trip and his simultaneous yet contradicting yearning for its early end and its completion, frustrated by the strangeness happening all around him, Kenny’s progressively volatile behaviors, Cartman’s obsession with something very particular that he couldn’t point a finger to, and Stan, whom thought of himself as a pretty good actor that could disguised the unseemly changes of himself, but he wasn't. Signs, the probing posture during their conversations, the lingering eyes, the inclination to flatter, the obscene optimism… he could sense it, Stan was up to something, but he couldn’t crack the code, and what a shame that was. 

He is, or at least was at some point, your best friend. 

When the sunlight gleamed on the glass window, Kyle kicked everyone up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slow... slow... slow...


	7. A Worm Crawls

Wyoming. The first morning they spent here was… boring, very boring, cause it’s Wyoming, of course it was gonna be boring, they just didn’t know it would be that… boring boring. They sat on the road side with their bikes on their sides, looking out to the plain field ahead. 

I want a shower…

I want to sleep…

I want to die. 

Hey! What a coincidence cos me too! I also want the sweet relief of death! 

Look, what is our course? Like, where are we heading? 

North. Cheyenne is ahead of us, we get there, get us a hotel or something, have a rest, and we head north, again. Stan announced with the map on his head. Like Lord of the Flies, they seemed to unanimously agreed, without ever discussing it over outright, that the one having the map would have the say on the course they would take, but unlike Lord of the Flies, no one would want to have the map to themselves cause being in charge of this disaster of a road trip would easily be anyone’s top nightmare. Well, besides Stan, he seemed to be alright with it. 

North, north, north… I am gonna kill myself, Stan! I have a gun and by all the gods in the world I will do it! I will shoot you, then the filthy fucking Jew, then that poor fuck, THEN MYSELF! 

What are you so up in arms about? 

Listen, Stan… listen, listen very carefully. Cartman leaned into him, with a face of dread and terror and whispered, You have to listen to me Stan, we are, and I can’t stress this enough, not safe! Look at it! Look out! What do you see? 

I see a plain… and sunshine… and ugh… the Cheyenne mountain, there… yeah, I saw all that. 

No! Stan, listen, listen, we are not in our home Stan, you know there are strangers out here, right? Thief and robbers, we are exposing ourselves with little to no protections! 

You are acting like Tweek right now for crying out loud, stop, Cartman…

Why are we doing this? I just don’t get it. What is it so tempting about a road trip, one without even a car to ride on? 

Stan of course had a reason, but why would he say it. 

No one is out here, Cartman. Don’t worry, it’s Wyoming, there are hardly anyone out here for that matter. 

You don’t understand, do you, Stan? When situation arise, we will all pay for our stupid decision! Oh god! Oh why! Why do I have to die with you all twats! 

A bit hyperbolic? 

When Stan and Cartman was arguing over nothing, Kyle, who normally was either a participant of Cartman’s madness, or a mediator then turned into a participant, was focusing on something else. The first thing that happened this morning was something he never thought, not even once in his life, he would see happening. Kenny asked to borrow one of his books. He gave him _The Great Gatsby_ , but he didn’t want that, he asked for that book he read last night that he had forgotten the name of. _Hermetic Corpus?_ Kyle asked in utter disbelief, Kenny nodded to confirm. He never thought Kenny was the reading type, and he would definitely not think Kenny as the type that would willingly and casually read _Hermetic Corpus_. But here they were, sitting on the road side, with Kenny reading that book with no regards to anything surrounding him. 

Kenny?

Yeah? He didn’t even raise his head up from the book. 

You are liking that book…? 

Well… I am bored, so that helps. 

You are reading… _Hermetic Corpus_. I don’t think being bored was the only needed justification for that act. 

You were reading it, no? 

Yeah, because I was interested in it! 

Well, so am I? 

That’s good and all… like, I am happy for you… 

I know you are, Kyle. 

Yeah… I guess I just didn’t expect you would be, that’s all… 

I don’t know, the book is just very intriguing. He finally rose up to look at Kyle in the eyes, Speaking of that, Kyle, I think I know why you are reading this?

Kenny always did that, as if he’d like to see through people, however accurate his read was at various stages of their lives. Sure, his words were always muddled by his garment, and sure, he grew tacit due to that, only being this loquacious around them three, and when facing Butters, for whatever reasons, but nonetheless, he always watched. 

And in that sense, even Kyle didn’t exactly know why he himself would read those kinds of book recently. Something was just telling him to do so. 

You should join me later on. 

Join you on what? Kenny?

Destruction. You saw me bashing that motel room up with a pole. 

Why would I join you on that? 

You’d very much like to, though. 

I don’t figure. 

You do. You are cleverest boy I have ever met.

Is that a flirt? 

Maybe. He went back reading the book, smirking, Depends on your reactions. 

You are a strange son of a gun, you know that? Kyle laughed at that.

Yeah, I know. I think I have accepted that fact, but I need something more… I just find this book interesting. Like, it feel like it can plant something in you, and it will just move all over you... we all have something in us, squirming and twisting, a secrets of sorts, right?

Kyle nodded, but didn't answer.

A few more minutes and they continue forward. Cheyenne was the capital city of Wyoming, so there was at least some resemblance of a central city, with fair amount of stores and shops and all that. There were finally some people around as well, as the four boys slowly realized how long they have missed a whole crowd of people, and now they were exposed to it, they were actually a bit uncomfortable. They walked past a store front displaying some computer gears, with a screen that was all pink and purple, and Kenny and Cartman laughed at that; they walked past a barber shop, Stan wanted a haircut, everyone else told him to fuck off; they walked past a bookstore, Kyle wanted a stay but didn’t propose it to the group knowing they would reject the idea, but he didn’t need to cause the other three already knew he would want to stay in the bookstore and they all rejected him even though he hadn’t said a word; there was a gun range, Cartman didn’t see it, no one reminded him; they walked past the Nagle Warren Mansion, which was said to be landmark, but it was little more than just a bigger house: they were roundly disappointed. 

When the sun set, and the street had gone cold and empty, they found themselves, not a motel, but an actual, though far from fancy, hotel, cause all of them agreed, they would rather spend just a little more money, than to spend another night in those human hellhole where merely taking a shower in the bathroom makes one want to stick a fork in a toaster ever again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never been to Wyoming... lovely place, I presumed, but I have no doubt I would never be there... maybe, I'm not sure, actually, a place with nothing to see... sounds tempting.


	8. Stan was Tempted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Holy God! Finally! Some actual, meaningful plot and character developments!"  
> -my readers, probably

Death pursued everyone in a different sort of way, some came for our spines, others came for our minds. For Stan, it was definitely the later one, as the therapist became obsolete and medicine became obtuse, it was hard enough for him to stay away from the bottles, harder when one of his friends, Kenny, was clearly drawn by the liquors and was binge drinking daily right in front of his face. He didn’t see everything as amalgamations of excrement anymore, thankfully, but instead now he saw a wasteland, he saw, every day, a wasteland that warranted no response, no comments, no reflections. What could be the source of such ruination? 

You fat piece of shit… if you are taking the shower first could you not have stayed there for half a fucking hour? Kyle’s scolding was always potent and stringent, and if one was not subjected to it for years just like them three were, one would be dead afraid of it. 

Fuck you Jew! This is America! I will take as long as I fucking want to! The howl coming from the bathroom penetrated the door and the wall easily. Sadly, it seemed, Cartman was one of those three. 

The hotel room they got was at least serviceable. Only a queen sized bed again, sadly, but luckily for them, there were two sofa chairs, so they could be spared from the carpet flooring. The room was well lit unlike the last one, and the wall wasn’t stained with tar and piss, or whatever that might be able to make those marks. And there was WIFI, a refreshment for sure. As soon as they walked into the room, Cartmen stormed into the bathroom and had not exited since; Kyle cleaned the room all over with towels and kleenex, wanting to even sweep the floor but the carpet royally stopped him from doing so; Kenny, resorted to his phone for the first minutes, slowly succumbed to, or at least that's how Stan perceived it to be, that one book Kyle had brought with him. When did Kenny learn how to read? 

He wanted to play some guitar, but it was loud when played in the room so they had him take the balcony, which was a welcomed addition to a not so fancy hotel room, though admittedly very small, could barely fit him and a chair and a guitar. A box of flowers hung on the balcony fence. The trusty old guitar of his had accompanied him through countless sleepless nights, breakdowns and sombre cogitations. 

Ruins after ruins, it was the spirits at first, then the smoke, then weed, then something else, then something else or something else or something else… always a dependency for him, if not a material then a lifestyle, rather it would be the hippie one or the goth one, which he would admit that none of the two had completely left him yet. Gothic hippie, quite a funny image to invoke. It fit the songs he played normally, all obscure artists with the most popular of them being Neutral Milk Hotel and Swans… guess the hippie version of him hadn’t left him at all. In sharp contrast, Cartman listened to to strictly two music genres: classical and nursery rhymes, cause he definitely was a psychopath; Kenny listened to hip hop, cause one supposed if there was any white boy that could actually relate to those music, it would be Kenny; Kyle listened to all kinds, casually, evidently the nerd dabbled in basically everything in their daily lives but just not music, probably because the boy could carry less of a tone than a actual deaf person. 

Cartman finally exited the bathroom, and was almost beaten to death by the red haired boy. The vociferous argument didn’t even interrupt Kenny’s reading. Kyle went to take a bath, not before he basically sanitized the entire bathroom as if Cartman had carried the plague in there with him. 

That. Kyle. That. He wanted to call the redheaded boy a cunt, but that probably would hurt him more than it would hurt the one subjected to the term. Ages, the constant flowing of time was savage, it had wrecked many health, ruined many minds, sacked many beautiful faces, tore many souls apart. And he felt exactly like that, further into teen age, the more distant he felt with others, which he minded little, but not with Kyle. Many times, he reminisced over those past where they would hang out without a worry in the world. Well, it was not like Kyle had completely abandoned him or anything of the sorts, in fact, if he could put on a pair of objective lenses, he might be able to see that there wasn’t really anything changing between them. Maybe they had less common interest: Kyle just constantly talked about computers and literature, and he could understand basically none of them. 

But if things had remained that way, he might still be able to bear it. Yet the minor longing for the red haired boy’s company soon evolved into sickness, at least in his mind, a kind of sickness. He would not consider himself a homophobe, cause everyone died the same way, ashes to ashes, dust down the drain, what use was there to discriminate one but not the other? But he was also quite sure of his sexuality not being gay, because he had tested that, thoroughly, with pornographic material galore, he was damn sure that he wasn't one fond of the rods. Yet how many years had he possessed those emotions of his, gearing specifically to that one best friend of his, one might grant the title of "love," or "obsession," depends on who gave the title. How many years was that? Two? Longer. Three? More like it. 

As he mindlessly strung the strings of his guitar, and Cartman told him to shut the fuck up cause he was gonna play his Animal Crossing, which he ignored, Kyle came out of bathroom. He had changed into a set of clean underclothes, with the loose shirt being collarless. 

I know we all want some quiet time to ourselves, but I also think we need to discuss our future courses.

Shut up! Jew! If you didn’t mention it, we wouldn’t have to!

I just think it would be good for us to talk it over…

Fine! Fuck why do you have to such a nagging fucking bitch all the time! Kenny? Kenny!

Ugh! 

When have you become a gay twat as well like Kyle, reading gay little books? 

Talk! Yes! Talk! Where are we going tomorrow?

I say, we packed up our shit, I got my gun up, and we head straight back to South Park. How about that? 

Stan? The redhead asked, Do you have an idea forward? 

Yeah… yeah… it takes five hours to drive through Wyoming, so as we are on bikes, it may take a day… or two… his eyes landed on the redhead’s naked collar bones, and all the lascivious details of his many dreams haunted him in waves of dreaded stentorian alarms sounding in his brain, So we would just keep heading north and we should be fine... unless it started raining... 

Oh! You gotta jinx it!

If we are stuck in this shitty place for one more goddamn day I swear to god... we are so fucked...

Why are you so paranoid all the time, you fat fuck?

Kyle's voice provoked him, as his gaze was unable to stop objectifying the red head for him, and sultry ideas popped in and out, things between him and his best friends. He could feel a burning blush invading his cheek, so he dropped everything on his hands, grabbed some shirts he brought and went into the bathroom, announcing it was his turn for the shower. 

There are two possibilities. Either there all were simply a symptom of his wasteland, or a source of it, he couldn’t tell though. If, it was a source, then things would go haywire, and he would need drastic actions; but if it was mere symptom, that meant it could be rectified, it could be corrected. 

The innocent intelligence, the passionate character, the nerdy rants, the flaming hair, the green orbs, the freckled face, the pale skin… 

He had to stop himself before the arousal ran amok. He turned the knob of the shower to cold water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things would be a little intense from now on... I always intend to just write some lovey-dovey fanfics to relax, to distract myself from my actual work yet I just seem to be incapable of that... well, make do, everyone.


	9. Cartman Ran Errand

It was raining cats and dogs when they woke up. The dark clouds, looking a piece thick quilt, completely covering the high, obstructing any signs of a sun’s existence, and the wind howled, and raindrops crashed on the walls the roofs and the windows with anger, making tapping noises loud enough to cut out one’s train of thoughts. Leaves and newspapers flew in the air, and from afar, flashes of white lights ignited in the sky, followed by some muddled thunders. It was a storm. The four boys stood there, looking out the balcony. 

Fuck… me… in the white ass, mate… Kenny was utterly astounded, What a miracle boy you are, Stan, thank you! Really! 

How does this have to do with me? I didn’t personally ask God to piss, did I? He hesitated, If I did and I had just forgotten about it, you let me know… 

Let me guess, I am the only one that brought a raincoat with me. 

Stan and Kenny just looked at him and nodded. Kyle sighed in helplessness. 

Cartman didn’t say the word. He could see the pale white strips tore the dark rag to pieces in an instant, and abated just as fast as they emerged, letting the blackness recoup the sky once more. A drop of sweat slid down the side of his left cheek, even though the air was chilly to the skins. He suddenly felt the need to run away. The room’s walls was closing onto him, and he felt his chest tightening. 

I saw… a convenience store, just down there, next our hotel, they got raincoats there I think. Hand me the green I will get them for you people. 

He didn’t get the greens but instead he got three pairs of befuddled and slightly flabbergasted eyes. 

Did you just say… what you just said? Cartman? Kenny asked.

What? I am going down there, might as well get the raincoats so we can get out of here, right? 

Stan’s eyes widened, Did you say you will offer us a helping hand?

What the fuck are you all freaking out about? I said what I said… WHAT DID I SAY? 

You said you will be an errand boy. Kyel laughed at that. 

No! No! You fucking Jew! Guess what, I am going there rather you twats want the raincoats or not…

Yeah yeah yeah! Stan immediately pulled out some cash and shoved them into Cartman’s hand, which was a thing he never thought he would willingly do in his lifetime, Two, one for me one for Kenny. 

He walked out the room leaving the three boys in awes behind. Death comes to everyone, a principle that hadn’t been broken since the first sign of life emerged on this earth. As he sauntered across the hallway, entered the elevator and reached the lobby, he felt dead. The receptionist saw him, and he saw the receptionist, and he could feel the judgmental gaze that cunt had thrown at him, maybe even calling him fat in her mind. He touched the inner pocket of his coat, and the gun lied there quietly. He then saw someone entering the lobby, a white middle aged man, shaking the water off the black umbrella of his, walking to the front desk asking for a room. The man didn’t even cast a gaze on him, yet he still felt threatened, and a flash of the man kidnapping him gave him chills to the bones, so he minced his steps to the front door and exited the building. 

He lied. The convenience store was not next door but across the streets. He knew that, and he also knew that for him to get there he would have to traverse through the tempest with no umbrella or anything resembling a protection for him, but he didn’t care. He pushed the door open, and the stormy wind gusted in, almost blew his hat away, but he secured it on his head with his one hand, and with another hand holding together his coat, he plunged himself into the rain and the wind. 

His mother was a whore, a whore that had taken good care of him, tugging him into bed every night and letting him be as carefree as he wanted. But now there was no mother for him, only now that he had stepped outside of that shitty little town he once hated so much, had he realized his mother was longer there for him, and probably wouldn’t be for long. Women grow old, and die, just like everyone else, there was nothing he could do about it. There would be no longer any stormy nights that he could snuggled in his own bed with a Kermit the Frog doll on his sides, enjoying the safety and the comfort of knowing his own safety, those days were far gone. If there were a storm to come, he would have to step in it, just like what he was doing right this moment. Water invaded every crack of his body, as not a patch of the cloth could be spared from it, and the chill was crushing the fat in his body, and there was a little pond in his shoes, and they squealed everytime he made another step. 

The bell above the door rang as the fat boy entered the convenience store, completely soaked from top to bottom. 

Oh boy, are you alright? The owner was a grey geezer, lacking any teenth in his mouth. 

Yeah, fine, three raincoats. Hurry please. He threw the money on the counter. 

A hurry, huh, boy? Let me fetch you some good ones… boy are you soaked from head to toes, you will get a cold from that, boyo… 

In his head the old man pulled out a shotgun pointed directly at his face, threatening him to give all his possessions or to be blasted by that gaping black hole of the gun barrel. His hand impulsively reached his pocket for the revolver. 

Here, your raincoats. 

The words stopped him from pulling the piece out. His face pale in fear, his eyes looked at the old man dead in the eyes, his hands shaking. 

Are you alright? Boyo? 

Yeah… yeah… 

The storm worsened, somehow. The lightning was no longer from afar, but they were now right above his head, and as he pushed the glass door opened and returned to the streets, it was so dark it could well have been eight in the evening and he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference, and by god, the sky cracked, torn into pieces, and the hostility of the city poured onto him in storming rage. 

When he had gone back to the room, soaking wet, the three looked at him with astounded eyes. But none of them said anything. He handed them the raincoats, insisting to leave. The three, strangely, still didn’t say anything, not even a sentence of protest against his suggestion of riding in the hard rain. They put on their raincoats and got out of the hotel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School was catching up... and I had a new project coming, so this thing might had come to a long halt.  
> I will not give up on my work though. I will finish it, sooner or later.


	10. Kyle Fantasized Killing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depiction of very mild violence and gore.

Being a germaphobe was honestly the least of his problem. The raindrops had seeped their way through the raincoat, somehow, and now they were sliding down his flat chest, leaving a trail of chilling sensation. The rain had assuaged, luckily, though the sky was still dark and gloomy, and they carried on their journey, now exiting Chenney and, subsequently, Wyoming. None of them did speak a word this whole way. 

Even though he was not, in the strictest definition, a religious person, he had to admit to himself from time to time, that the dogmatic religiosity his parents embodied had passed onto him in one way or another: the rigid moral codes, the fragile temper, the hate for changes. He hated changes, especially in regards to those who were closest to him, and he had spotted many. For example, thanks to Obama, he had experienced Ike’s teenage rebellion well ahead of the schedule, but even so, now the brat had grown up a bit, he just couldn’t stand how the once loving and intimate little brother of his becoming a little contrarian who had kept more secrets from him than he had kept from his mother. He hated that change. Another example, now that everyone was preparing their way into college, people seemed to have a distaste for him beyond that of normalcy; sure, he probably had made ten too many didactic speeches, and sure, his grades were so impeccable, they might have made his preaches even more unbearable than they were before, but the speed of which his social circle had shrunken was truly horrifying. They would politely, so passive aggressively, tell him that a smart student like him who would be going to elite colleges, really should just go study and keep it to himself. He knew this change would be here to stay, he knew that later when he goes to college, the alienation would only get worse. Ironically, the only thing that won’t change, is the change. 

To combat the newfound lonesomeness, he put even more times into the reading, which people had noticed, and disliked him even more for, but honestly at that point, he couldn’t care less. 

Well, it was not exactly true across the board. 

They stopped by a store to rest. The sky had finally brightened up a bit, and they took off their raincoats, revealing their half-soaked clothes underneath: the rain was hard, and the coats were shoddy. 

Look, I am not the smartest kid here, I am not. But can I just suggest that we look for a place to spend our night, before the night comes? 

Kenny, that is a genius idea! You do it. 

No.

Then just shut the fuck up! 

His advice is sound. Kyle voiced to support the reasonable proposal, Look it up on your phone, see where we can spend the night. 

Why is it me?

Cos fatso, you aren’t doing anything right now, and being busy keeps you from aging, or from gaining any more weight. 

Tell your leashed dog to do it. 

He looked to where Cartman was pointed, Stan stood beside him, staring blankly with dazed eyes. 

Stan! 

Yeah?

What are you looking at?

Nothing.

You don’t look nothing. 

What do I look?

Fever. 

I look sick to you?

Are you? He reached his hand to Stan’s forehead, but Stan jumped at that and dodged it.

I am fine. Don’t worry about it. 

Are you sure? If you are sick, we should rest more before we go any further, you just took the rain and if you keep straining it the sickness will only get worse...

Yeah. Stan’s hand jerked to interrupt him, crashing right into his still outreaching arms, which Stan apologized for swiftly, Sorry, Stan said, Yes! Let’s look for places before we get going, wouldn’t want another night at the diner, right? 

That, he hated more than anything else. Frustration mounting, and the result was always, rage. He had anger issues, even he wouldn’t deny that at this point. What once was only an issue of not being able to take a tease or two, had devolved into full on wrath, with the more obvious symptom being his dragged out rant filled with seething anger. The jersey vibe of his had never left him, he knew that; suppression of it had always been futile. At this moment in time, he wanted to do something outrageous, something violent that could relieve his current frustration. 

The source of the frustration? This boy, this best friend of his. 

He hated him. Not really, he loved him with every fiber of his soul, who wouldn’t love their super best friend since childhood? No matter how much further his social circle would shrink to, he knew three people would be the constant: Cartman, who would want him to be the first sacrifice when his nazi regime had finally rebuilt; Kenny, who had flirted with him enough for him to completely ignore them and focus solely on the poor boy's welfare; and Stan, at least that used to be the case. Sure, they argued, they fought, but they were still best friends with each other, that was how things work. But recently, about a year or two, Stan had changed, and he could see the changes. Distance between them could be felt, and substance abuse became even more frequent and severe, and at once the boy would hold the newest, unpacked copy of MK9 to his house so they could play the game together for the first time, now wouldn’t even give him a call in spare time. He would rather Stan told him outright that he didn’t need him anymore, he would rather they have a big fight and never talk to each other ever again, he would rather have anything but what they have right now: a quiet rot of a relationship he treasured so fucking much. 

He wanted to break something, anything, and though he was still able to hold himself back from actually doing anything, he couldn’t stop his wrath running amok in his head, so he cast all his rancor and hatred onto the first thing he saw, which was Kenny’s bike. In his mind, he wrecked that thing, beating it with an iron pipe, its parts torn out of itself, chains and wheels scattered around like blood and guts, and in no time, that image of a trashed bike morphed into a dead corpse, of something he couldn’t tell. This was the only way he could calm down, outside of, of course, actually putting what he thought of into actions. 

How long could he keep this up though, he wouldn’t know. He had read enough books to hack into someone’s email, but not enough to know his own limit. He looked to his three companions, and a sense of mislike aroused. They were not just names, not Cartman Kenny Stan, especially the last one, they were skins, hairs, body fluids, sinews, snots and flesh, and they were disgusting. 

Calm down, he told himself. He distracted himself by looking at the bike again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not the one that will give up on my lovechild... well I do have bastards here or there, but this one is my child, and I will finish it. Updates will still be scarce, days have been rough, but I will keep this going. There should be approximately eleven more chapters before the whole thing end.  
> Even I think that is a bit dragged out, lmao. Don't worry, the thing will brighten up at the end, I wouldn't dare leave all my boys in misery, but I will make sure that it feels earned.


End file.
